


i'm still undone

by only_partly



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Gender Fuckery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_partly/pseuds/only_partly
Summary: nicke in a silk slip. that's it that's the fic.
Relationships: Nicklas Backstrom/Alexander Ovechkin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	i'm still undone

The whisper of silk is an interesting contrast against the fine hairs on his legs and thighs - a heightened sensitivity there he doesn’t notice when it’s under armor or sweats coming to the fore, as though he’s grown extra nerves for the silk to play on. He brushes the backs of his hands down his chest - the fronts of them are too callused, catching too often for it to have the same smooth glide. In the mirror, the fall of the scooped fabric at the front of the dress gives the illusion of cleavage, and with his hair still damp and curling a little at the ends, the image staring back at him looks. Good. He toys with the idea of something on his mouth, lipstick or a colored gloss, but then he leaves it. It feels too heavy on his face, and he already feels like the dress is a delicate shell he might burst out of at any moment, the silk and thread too inadequate to contain him.

He adjusts the thin straps over his shoulders one more time, tilting his head slowly so the end of one curl brushes his shoulder, and he shivers a little. Then he carefully tucks it behind his ear and turns his back to the mirror to survey the bed. 

Ovi is in cuffs, the soft leather ones, because he had asked for bondage, but neither of them felt they had the energy for anything more complicated. He’s sitting up against the headboard, hands in his lap, waiting patiently for Nicke to be finished. He shifts, just a little, and the leather creaks, another counterweight to the swish of the silk around Nicke’s legs as he moves to one side of the bed. He lifts one wrist to the attachment point in the wall, checking the fit of the cuff one more time before he moves to the other side.

He can feel Ovi’s eyes on him as he walks, the fall of the dress making him feel as though he’s on the ice, lending him grace he wouldn’t normally have on dry land. He fastens Ovi’s other wrist, sliding a finger between the leather and skin already starting to be slippery with sweat, and then puts the same hand in Ovi’s hair, tilting his head up and leaning down to meet his upturned mouth.

Ovi’s mouth is just as hot and inviting as always, pulling him into a stream of heat and wet and good, and he’s glad that he didn’t put on lipstick, glad that he can feel the every nuance of Ovi’s mouth, the smoothness of a scar bisecting his upper lip, the roughness of his teeth-bitten lower lip. Nicke jerks his head back farther, until it must be a strain on Ovi’s neck, but he groans into Nicke’s mouth as Nicke bites down, hard, on his lip, tasting blood as a scab splits open, and rich iron fills both their mouths for an instant before Nicke pulls back, letting go of Ovi’s hair and watching as he heaves for breath. A drop of blood is slowly forming on his lip, and Nicke reaches out, very slowly, and touches his thumb to it.

Ovi turns his head and licks it off of his thumb, thoroughly. 

“I had thought of gagging you.” Nicke says. He’s a little surprised his voice isn’t more hoarse. “But you can be quiet for me, can’t you babe?”

A nod is the only reply he gets, but the cuffs rattle as Ovi shifts a little, eager for whatever Nicke has in store for him. Nicke kicks off his slippers and climbs onto the bed, pulling the dress clear of his knees as he straddles Ovi’s lap. He sets both hands to cover the cuffs on Ovi’s wrists, squeezing a little. Beneath the soft leather, they feel oddly vulnerable, and he gives in to his impulse to kiss the soft inside of first one forearm and then the other. “My good Sasha,” he says softly. “All mine, waiting so patient for me.”

Ovi tilts his head up towards him, a mute appeal for a kiss, and Nicke obliges him, dragging his hands down from his wrists to his strong shoulders and then cupping the sides of his face, bending to kiss him deeply before he moves his mouth to one of those shoulders, setting his teeth in enough to feel the muscle there jumping in tensed anticipation. He worries it, enough to leave a bruise but not enough to break skin, before he moves again, leaving a matching mark on the other shoulder, and then the junction of Ovi’s neck, clean sweat beneath his tongue as he laves at it, feeling the coolness of the silk stretch as he reaches for Ovi’s nipples, thumbing over them thoughtfully. 

The body-warmth of Ovi’s chains completes a half formed idea, and he rises and in Ovi’s lap, in a parody of fucking, pressing his silk-covered front to Ovi’s chest, making sure there’s plenty of contact from the silk to already sensitized nipples. He’s rewarded with a thunk as Ovi’s head slams backwards into the headboard and a groan escapes him.

Nicke smiles. He sits again, heavily, on Ovi’s thighs, and leans forward to bite at Ovi’s nipples in turn before making his way down his torso, the silk sliding with him as he moves, dispensing bites and bruises and pressing kisses to the hurts as he goes. He pauses, mouth just at the base of Ovi’s dick, and looks up. Ovi’s eyes are enormous, pupils blown to hell, and his mouth is open as his chest heaves.

“Looks like you might need to work on conditioning.” Nicke says, and then closes his mouth around Ovi’s cock.

He doesn’t bite, not here, but he keeps Ovi wondering if perhaps he might, an edge of teeth here and a graze there. The prospect doesn’t seem to distress Ovi’s cock - it’s soft steel beneath Nicke’s hand when he runs his blunt nails lightly down one side of it. “What you think, baby? I should let you come tonight?”

He can see Ovi visibly remind himself not to speak, to keep quiet, and he smiles a little. “But I can’t let this nice dress get all messed up. It’s a real tricky one, huh, babe. Maybe, just to keep things tidy -” He pushes himself up, lifting the dress out of the way to reach his underwear. It’s not much different from a jock, functionally - a thick strap of elastic around the waist, and a pouch for his dick in front, but these are silk. Silver, to compliment the dress, and he pushes the thin string in his crack aside and sits down on Ovi’s dick. “- I’ll fuck you like this.”

Nicke drops the dress down again, silk pooling on Ovi’s thighs and stomach, and inside of him, he can feel the cock harden. Ovi’s gone completely, retaining just enough self control to keep from speaking, but he’s whining without seeming to realise it, thighs trembling and cuffs rattling as tries to reach for Nicke, realises he’s still bound, and then forgets all over again in his struggle to reach and touch and hold. Nicke smiles, sitting forward on Ovi’s cock to kiss his trembling mouth, stroking down his arms and chest soothingly. “Come whenever you like, baby.”

Despite the permission, Ovi restrains himself long enough that Nicke can feel his own thighs beginning to burn, and he leans forward again, clamping down on Sasha’s cock at the same time that he bites, ever so slightly, at a nipple.

Ovi comes with a shout, trembling through the aftershocks as Nicke kisses him quiet again, lifting himself gingerly off and sliding a plug into himself so he doesn’t drip anywhere. Cleanup can wait. He unhooks the cuffs from the attachment points, rubbing briskly at Ovi’s arms as the blood rushes back into them. “Cuffs?” He asks quietly.

“On,” Ovi says, and then, implicit permission to speak again granted, says, “Nicke, you not come.”

“No,” Nicke says. “Was thinking I might use your beautiful mouth. If you can be careful, and swallow everything. No mess, remember?”

“No mess,” Ovi agrees, and then wriggles his way to the end of the bed, letting Nicke take his place against the headboard and lift his dress out of the way. His cock is staining his underwear, straining against the elastic of the waistband, and he pulls it to one side as he beckons Ovi forward.

Ovi sucks cock like he does everything - with all of his heart thrown into it, and to the best of his considerable abilities. He doesn’t tease like Nicke had done to him, instead taking Nicke deep into his throat and swallowing, his thumbs rubbing circles on silk covering Nicke’s hips. 

The deep pressure with the smooth slide of the silk of Sasha’s throat and his touch on his hips was enough - it was barely ten minutes before he threw his head back, one hand bracing himself on the bed and the other tangled harshly in Sasha’s hair, hauling him deeper onto his cock to catch every last drop.

They both sit quietly, Ovi’s head resting on Nicke’s thigh, for a few minutes. Nicke’s hand is gentle now, petting through Ovi’s hair as one of Ovi’s hands plays with the hem of Nicke’s dress, until Nicke heaves a sigh and wrangles his soaked underwear off, flinging it into the hamper by the bathroom and pulling the dress over his head, tossing it to flutter to a crumpled heap by the armchair. “Cuffs?” He asks again.

“On still, please.”

Nicke slides down the bed, man-handling Ovi until he’s tucked up against him, wrists crossed over his chest and both of Nicke’s legs over his. He pulls the duvet up over them and clicks the light off, pressing a kiss to the back of Ovi’s neck before settling one hand over his bound wrists and the other on his thigh, thumb pressing into a fresh bruise. “Tomorrow,” he says into the soft darkness, “You can wear the short velvet one and I’ll fuck you over the ottoman.”


End file.
